"Yes," said the man.
"An' was that Mr. Anson himself who drove away in a private cab?"
"Yes," said the girl.
"Thanks. It does one good to see a young chap like him so jolly and comfortable, and provided with everything he can want in the world; eh?"
"I wish I 'ad a bit of 'is little lot," sighed the greengrocer's assistant, with a side glance at the maid.
The stranger laughed harshly.
"It's hard to say when ye're well off," he growled. "Up one day and down the other. You never know your luck."
Away he went, southward. His long vigil on the pavement near the railings seemed to have ended. In Piccadilly he took an omnibus to the Circus, and there changed to another for the Elephant and Castle.
He walked rapidly through the congeries of mean streets which lie to the east of that bustling center, and paused at last before a house which was occupied by respectable people, judging by the cleanly curtains and general air of tidiness.
He knocked. A woman appeared. Did Mrs. Mason live there? No. She knew nothing of her. Had only been in the place eighteen months.